Slaves
Hebrews born to serve, to the pharaoh
Heed
To his every word, live in fear
Faith
Of the unknown one, the deliverer
Wait
Something must be done, four hundred years

So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm sent here by the chosen one
So let it

Make his fight on the hill in the early day
Constant chill deep inside
Shouting gun, on they run throught the endless grey
On they fight, for they are right, yes, but who's to say?
For a hill, men would kill, why? They do not know
Stiffened wounds test their pride
Men of